


Don't Call Me Tonks

by postwillows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Tonks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-02 19:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16311005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postwillows/pseuds/postwillows
Summary: She's proud of her family, but she's ashamed of her parents. She wants to succeed, but she doesn't want to listen. She wants to make her favorite aunt proud, but that woman happens to be in Azkaban. And don't you ever call her Tonks. Dark!Tonks AU





	1. The Letter

The day she gets her letter, Nymphadora starts packing.

She’s barely torn the Hogwarts seal on the envelope open and skimmed through the scrawled lines before she’s dashing around her room, trying to decide which of her favorite books she wants to take and which photographs she should leave behind. There are still weeks before the term actually starts, but the excitement and the burning desire to get away from her home has overwhelmed her that she doesn’t even consider til halfway through shoving her best robes into her trunk that she’s going to have to use most of these items for a good while before she actually leaves. 

While the thought should halt her, the young witch merely starts organizing her things into tidy little piles inside the trunk (and outside, and all around the floor) for easier access.

It’s only when her mother calls for her the fourth time that she finally leaves her room and traipses downstairs for dinner.

Her mother and father are already seated at the table, and Nymphadora quickly takes her place, already eager to get back to packing.

“So,” her father says gruffly, still looking at the evening _Prophet_ and chewing a mouthful of potatoes, “your mother says you got your letter today.”

Nymphadora swallows, having hardly chewed and her hair subconsciously fading from a soft lilac to a darker shade of violet. Not only does she want to get back to her room, she also wants to get away from this table as fast as possible. 

Ted Tonks is a Muggle-born wizard, and because he married her mother, Nymphadora has rarely been able to see any of her extended family members. Hard enough as it’s been growing up as an only child in a home with two parents who spend most of their time working and barely any time acknowledging that they do, in fact, have an eleven year old daughter, she’s had barely any contact with the few relatives that she does have. With the limited time that she’s spent with her magical relatives, she craves for more of those moments, and wishes more and more that her mother didn't avoid her own sisters just as much as they shunned her. 

Ted Tonks is also an angry man, who hits his daughter when she doesn’t always flush the toilet because of the scary sounds the ghoul in the pipes likes to make, or when she forgets to turn off the wireless when she leaves the room. 

She supposes that not all Muggle-borns are like her dad, but she certainly doesn’t care enough to find out.

“Yes,” she says finally, after another quick bite is shoved in and swallowed.

“Well, let’s hope you’re a little more receptive to the teaching there than you are at home, eh?” 

Nymphadora feels her face grow hot and she’s no longer hungry at all. 

“Ted,” her mother begins imploringly before she’s suddenly cut off.

“No, don’t _Ted_ me, Andromeda. You know well as I do that no school, magic or not, can do anything for a kid that’s stubborn and refuses to listen.” He tears a bite of steak off from his fork and jabs his knife angrily, pointing it in Nymphadora’s direction, “You don’t wanna listen to what we tell you here at home, you think you’re gonna wanna listen to a bunch of old codgers tellin ya how to turn a pot of dirt and water into magic soup?”

It takes everything in her not to snap back at her dad that first of all, it doesn’t work that way, and secondly, yes, as a matter of fact, she would listen to some old codgers over an angry middle aged man who still doesn’t know how to finish chewing his own food before speaking.

She keeps her eyes on her plate though, pushing her potatoes and beans around and mashing them together while her insides burn white hot.

“I’ll tell ya what,” her dad goes on, pausing to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and narrowing his eyes at his daughter, “if you can make it even one year without dropping out or getting expelled, I’ll be so impressed, I’ll buy you your own broomstick.”

Nymphadora looks up and she feels her hair tingling a tad brighter again. Her father notices but he only smirks, leaning forward on his elbows and saying, “That’s how much I know you ain’t gonna make it. Now finish your food.”

She does. But she throws it all up in the toilet later.

She flushes.


	2. Ollivander's

The late August air is filled with dancing sunlight, chirping birds, and rustling robes as Nymphadora and her mother make their way through Diagon Alley early Saturday morning. 

“You are to stay by my side at all times,” her mother says sternly, well aware of how accident prone her daughter is and wanting to walk out of Diagon Alley today with as few bruises and newly acquired broken objects as possible.

Her mother, organized and efficient as ever, has all of their stops outlined in the quickest route to beat the rush that is sure to hit soon; most students and their families are apt to begin shopping the very first weekend after receiving their letters. 

“Most of your required textbooks haven’t changed since your father and I were in school, so you can use some of those,” Andromeda is saying as she all but drags her daughter down the cobbled street. Meanwhile, the curious child, today with curly blonde locks falling just past her shoulders, keeps craning her neck to catch a glimpse of windows to the many shops she won’t be stopping in today. It’s mostly a blur of colors and sounds and smells but Nymphadora takes it all in. They don’t come to Diagon Alley often, but when they do, she feels like she can never get enough. 

They pass by the broom shop, where a sleek and shiny racing broom is on prominent display. Even as they rush past, Nymphadora catches the words “Nimbus 1001” engraved on the display plaque just below it.

She recalls the words of her father just two nights ago. He said he’d buy her a broomstick if she managed to make it to the end of her first year at Hogwarts. Not for the first time, Nymphadora wonders how truly difficult school will be. She’s only ever imagined wonderful things about it, but recently she’s begun to realize that she doesn’t actually know that much about Hogwarts at all. She’s only got a handful of stories from her parents, and about three articles from old magazines in the house that suddenly seemed insufficient, no matter how many times she read them in the past day. She knows about the Houses of course, knows her mum was in Slytherin and her dad in Hufflepuff. She hopes with all that is in her that whatever House she ends up in, it’s not Hufflepuff. 

She doesn’t want to be anything like her father.

Finally, they’re stopping in front of a shop that Nymphodora has been longing to enter ever since she first laid eyes on it five years ago: Ollivander’s.

There is an old man seated behind the counter who can only be Mr. Ollivander, and he looks up from the morning paper to set his pale eyes on Nymphadora. She shrinks back a little, feeling almost as though he can see straight into her immediately. It makes her a bit uncomfortable, but also the strangest bit safe; this is the man that’s going to match her with the perfect wand. It’s his job to see through people like that. 

Aunty Bella had once said that wands weren’t just tools or instruments, that they were at their best an extension of the witch or wizard, an extra appendage that needs to learned and understood and practiced, like a muscle that needs exercise to help bring someone to their fullest potential. And you can’t just chop off someone else’s arm and attach it to yourself and expect to be able to use it easily or effectively or at all. It’s not a one size fits all sort of thing, it’s a very, very individualized and tailor made piece of a witch’s existence. And sometimes if the wand gets damaged or the witch’s heart changes, they stop being able to work together because they’re no longer a perfect match.

But that’s not what’s gonna happen, because Nymphadora is here to find the perfect wand for herself and together they will grow so she can become one of the best witches that Hogwarts has ever seen, and she’s gonna get that Nimbus 1001.

Mr. Ollivander has already disappeared and reappeared from the back holding a long box. He opens it, peers inside, peers at Nymphadora, peers inside again, then snaps it shut and walks back into a little aisle. He returns once more with a different box. He comes to stand before Nymphadora and looks at her with a furrowed brow, then opens the box.

“So, Miss Nymphadora Tonks is it?” He draws the wand gently from its case.

“Just Nymphadora is fine, sir.”

Mr. Ollivander peers down at her as she peers up at the wand. “Not much like either of your parents are you, hm?” He asks, apparently not minding that Nymphadora’s mother is standing right there. 

She thinks about that one for a moment. She’s definitely not her father. He’s a grump on his good days and a bully on his bad ones. She thinks about her mother. Her aunts say she used to be strong willed and determined, but all Nymphadora sees is a woman who only ever agrees with her husband and never stands up for herself—or her daughter. “I don’t think so, Mr. Ollivander.” Nymphadora says with resolve.

He looks hard at her one more moment. “Very well.”

He places the wand back in the box and snaps it shut without ever letting her even touch it. She watches nervously, with mixed impatience and anticipation, as the old wizard once again shuffles away. 

There’s the sound of wand boxes being moved around as if he can’t find what he’s looking for, or it’s buried behind a great many others. When he finally returns, he’s carrying a very dusty box that simultaneously appears untouched and ancient. The moment he opens it, Nymphadora feels a tingling at the tips of her ears and fingers.

He hands her a dark brown wand, which fits easily in her grip.   
“Cedar wood and phoenix feather core, thirteen inches. I’ve had it for a very long time, but it’s never found a suitable owner. Perhaps today it will finally choose? Give it a wave.”

Before Nympadora can even complete a full arc, a gust of wind whirls around her, engulfing her and lifting her clear off the ground before it’s gone and she tumbles gracelessly onto her knees. 

“Interesting indeed, Miss Nymphadora. I’ll expect to be hearing great things from you in the years to come,” Mr. Ollivander says with a tilted head and a curious gaze. 

She stands up, dusts off her robes, and grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was a chore, and it’s a lot more serious than stuff I usually write lol. I’m more used to 400-750max words and way more humorous. Not sure if I should scrap everything I had in mind and redo from a more lighthearted perspective or push through and continue on this dramatic angsty path. Also was toying with the idea of changing to a first person perspective as that is much easier for me to write in. Idk though, I did finally manage to finish this one up, just took a lot longer than I’d have liked. Thoughts? Also, thoughts in general? Thank you for reading! Next chap will feature Aunty Cissy — that is, if it ever gets done hah


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